


Second Choice

by firesign10



Series: SPN Pairing Bingo 2013 [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic, F/M, M/M, Power Play, Soulless Sam Winchester, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-27 20:53:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firesign10/pseuds/firesign10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Lisa are living the suburban dream until Sam returns from Hell. His presence shifts the dynamics, forcing Lisa to make a stand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Choice

 

Sam's been back for a few weeks now, and Lisa is just grateful that he's not staying at the house with her and Dean. Oh, she's happy for Dean that his brother is 'topside' (what does that even mean, like he's been upside down?? She has no idea where he's been all this time.). Dean's step is lighter than it's been in months. His smile is flashing quicker, spreading wider, and his eyes - well, they sparkle more, especially as they follow his brother. Dean is not effusive by any means, but his joy in Sam's return is clear.

Lisa scolds herself; Sam is back from the dead, of course Dean is joyful. Sam is Dean's brother, his only living relative - if Dean _weren't_ happy, _that_ would be cause for concern. It's just that Dean seems so . . . distracted now. Frankly, Lisa is not used to vying for Dean's attention. It's been her, Ben, and Dean for so long now. Sam's presence is disrupting their balance, but she's deliberately ignoring that. Possession is 9/10ths of the law, right? Dean is still right here, HERE, in HER house. In HER bed. So phooey on stupidly-tall brothers and the fight against evil. Dean is _hers_ , and she plans to keep him.

But the forces of evil are screwing her up. How can Dean appreciate her delicious cooking when he's not home half the time for dinner? The relaxation of family movie night is overwritten by a poltergeist; Sunday morning brunch is sacrificed to a black dog. She tells Dean they could use a date night, just the two of them. A slinky dress and a deliberately messy up-do win her a wolf whistle and an ass-grab as Dean's hands slide purposefully down her body. But they only get as far as the car before there's a tall, looming shadow on the garage wall. Sam mutters something about a ghoul, and the next thing she knows, Dean is apologizing to her as he changes into hunting clothes. Then he's gone, only stopping to grab the duffel that resides in the garage, and she's left standing there in all her sexy finery . . . alone.

This is unacceptable. It's just not fair, and she'd kick her heels on the ground about it if she weren't a grownup. She loves Dean, wants Dean, fucking takes care of Dean. She's earned this. It's all Sam fucking Winchester's fault that Dean is so busy and never home anymore. She's going to give that annoying giant a piece of her mind.

Two days after her resolution about confronting Sam, the opportunity arises. Sam comes over for dinner - damn, the man can eat too, but she guesses that comes with the size of him - while Dean is not home from work yet, and Ben is at a friend's house overnight. It's just the two of them, Sam sitting at the breakfast bar and watching her cut up vegetables for stir-fry. He doesn't make small talk, so they are quiet. Lisa thinks this is the moment, she needs to talk to him, but it's difficult to break the stiff silence. Time is ticking away, though, so she grabs the bull by the horns. She wants it done and over with before Dean gets home.

"There's something I need to discuss with you, Sam," she begins, her knife rapping smartly on the cutting board. Peppers pile up in neat strips under her nimble hands. "This . . . hunting business. I know it's important, I get that. I mean, just look at what happened with Ben and me, right? And I get that there's much worse stuff out there, I do. It's just that - well, it's just that Dean's been out of it, you know? He was here for a year, just . . . living. Working and taking care of us and being happy. Happy and _safe_. Not fighting anyone, not killing anything, not being stabbed at or slammed into walls." She pauses, drifting into memory. Dean coming home from work and swinging her up in a big hug. His green eyes sparkling as he asks if Ben is home yet. The way he carries her up to the bedroom when she says Ben's at practice for another hour, tossing her onto the bed and pulling his shirt off. Their skin heating up as they move against each other, as his mouth travels over her. Her legs opening to welcome his thick cock, her hands holding tightly onto him as he -

Sam cleared his throat. "You okay there, Lisa?" She starts and looks at him, at his multi-hued eyes studying her so calmly. She realizes that he knows just where her mind had gone.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. So, as I was saying, about the hunting now - "

"And now," Sam's deep voice says quietly. "Now, he's back in it. Back at risk. And you want him to stop." He regards her with those unsettling eyes that seem to see too much. "You want him out of it again. You want me to stop involving him."

She can't say a word, can hardly breathe in fact, her eyes locked on his. She nods. Notices she's clutching the knife and forces her hand to relax, lay it down on the cutting board.

Sam laughs quietly, shakes his head. He looks at her again, staring into her fucking soul with those unearthly eyes. "Lisa - do you really think that if Dean didn't want to be hunting, he'd be out there? _Dean?_ Do you fucking know him at all? You think it's _me_ making him hunt? You sorry bitch. I was just the catalyst for him to start again. Half the time I show up here with a hunt, _he's_ the one who called _me_." He laughed again, a cold, bitter sound that strips the warmth from her kitchen. "The Dean you've had for the last year was half-life Dean. He was a fucking shadow of himself, living the suburban dream here with you. Now he's whole again, and that means he's gonna hunt. It's how he's built. How did you live with him all this time and not fucking know that?" Sam's lips curl with scorn and he crosses his massive arms in front of his chest.

Lisa feels like she could blow away on a breeze - she's unmoored to anything real. Has the past year really been an illusion? Did she miss the clues to Dean's unwitting deception? Was she just so happy to have him, to be with him, that she didn't even question how he could shift that easily into a normal life? She remembers Dean's early days, with the nightmares and the restlessness. The half-eaten meals, the excessive late-night drinking. That made sense - he'd just lost his brother. She understood that and waited it out, giving him love and support without crowding him. She let him process the loss at his own pace. Then he seemed to settle down and slip into a routine with them. He'd spent so much one-on-one time with Ben; teaching him about engines, tools, and all that male stuff she had no clue about. Dean may not have been Ben's biological father, but he stepped into the role like it was made for him. He embraced all the ordinary rituals, like neighborhood barbecues where he manned the grill. Going out for beers after work once a week with the guys. Picking up golf and spending Sunday mornings on the back nine, coming home for bacon omelets and bloody marys.

Then there was the sex - god, the fantastic sex, as good as she remembered from that magical weekend so long ago. His body - so hard, so muscular and exciting as it moved over, under, and around her. His impressive lovemaking skills, picked up from a life on the road; she preferred not to know the specifics of his education, but she was ecstatic to reap the benefit. He knew trigger points on her she had no idea of herself. There was his mouth with those plush lips, full and pink. Those gorgeous lips kissed her breathless, that mouth bit and sucked on her, driving her half-crazy. That wet, probing tongue, licking her with flat strokes and targeting her tenderest spots with a clever, pointed tip. That was _half-life_ Dean?

Lisa starts, realizing how she's drifted into a reverie again while Sam is continuing to stare at her. She busies herself with the vegetables, scooping them into a big bowl and putting them next to the stove-top. She puts the wok on the holder and places it on the burner, drizzling oil inside. Her mind is racing, examining everything from the past year, comparing it to the present day. Maybe Sam is bluffing - maybe he's just yanking her chain, contesting her for the upper hand. She flicks a glance over to him, but he's now staring out the window and seems completely unconcerned with anything at all, much less her relationship with Dean. She adds the vegetables and swirls the pan a little to spread the oil. She watches the wok, her eyes blind for a moment as tears threaten. Blinking hard, she manages to clear her eyes, glancing at Sam again to see if he noticed. She desperately doesn't want to appear weak in front of him. His stool is empty - he's disappeared. She hears the rumble of Dean's truck pulling up the driveway and knows Sam's gone to meet him.

All she can think about is Sam telling Dean about their talk. No - she needs to reach him first. She's not even sure why, but it's important that Lisa talk to Dean before Sam does. Lisa pulls the pan off the burner and turns it off. She grabs a paper towel and quickly wipes her face, just in case there's any trace of tears. She crosses the kitchen to the garage door, pausing to look through the window for a moment. Maybe Sam won't say anything? Maybe they're getting a beer out of the fridge in the garage bay?

But there's no beer. And there's no talking either. Dean's back is to Lisa. Dean's arms are around Sam's neck. Sam's hand is on the back of Dean's head, and his other arm encircles Dean's waist, holding him close. And Dean's head is tilted back as he and Sam kiss.

Lisa feels sick to her stomach. They're kissing. They're _kissing_. They're _brothers_ , and they're kissing. An abstract thought about how hot this could have been passes through the wasteland that is her brain right now. It's not like Sam isn't as gorgeous in his way as Dean is. But - they're _brothers_ , and she really can't get past that.

The thought of what this means to her relationship with Dean hasn't even hit yet.

As if he knows - and knowing Sam, he probably does - Sam's eyes look over to the door. He and Dean are still kissing, trading little soft smooches, but Sam's eyes are looking right at Lisa. _See_ , they say as she watches. _See? He was never yours. He never will be yours. He was a loan, a gift for a little while, but he's mine. Always has been mine, always will be mine. Understand now?_

Lisa nods. Sam's eyes close as he tightens his arms around Dean. They break apart and Dean laughs, a happy sound, one that lances Lisa's heart with pain. She turns her back to the door, leaning against it, then sliding down to sit on the floor. Her legs feel weak and boneless; her stomach churns. Behind her, they knock on the door. Dean calls through the door, asking if she is okay. She manages to scramble to her feet and lets them in. Dean's face only shows concern. She knows he cares for her - she _knows_ he does. But not like he does for Sam.

Dean is solicitous, asking how she feels. Lisa nods, saying that she doesn't feel well - she'll go lie down. They can finish cooking the stir fry, if they want. Or they can order pizza. She doesn't really care, she knows she won't be eating tonight.

Dean hugs her, kisses her forehead before she goes upstairs. Sam stands there, hands in his back pockets, the corners of his mouth up in a tiny smile. Lisa looks at him and sees the coldness inside him. She fears him for the first time. As long as Sam stays around, she'll make sure that she is never be alone with him again.

Leaving them at the bottom of the stairs, she trudges up and then slogs into their bedroom. The one she's been sharing with Dean, where they've laughed, cried, made love. The one that isn't theirs anymore.

She lies on the bed under an afghan, curled up on her side. She can hear the rumble of male voices, the undercurrent of the tv, the odd laugh. It should be cozy and reassuring.

Lisa has never felt so alone.


End file.
